


Deirdre of the Sorrows, You're Not to Blame

by SteveLovesBucky



Category: Celtic Mythology, Irish Mythology, Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, The Iliad - Homer, The Ulster Cycle
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Consensual Underage Sex, Domestic Bliss, Eloping, F/M, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Forced Marriage, Gaelic Language, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Literature, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, May/December Relationship (unwilling), Narrative, Poetry, Prophecy, Prophetic Visions, Prophets, Scottish Gaelic, Self-Fulfilling Prophecy, Supernatural Elements, Teen Pregnancy, Traditional Fixed Forms, Translation Available, True Love, ancient Ireland, ancient Scotland
Language: Gàidhlig
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-24 06:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13805442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteveLovesBucky/pseuds/SteveLovesBucky
Summary: A dramatic monologue of sorts (in Scottish Gaelic) that addresses Deirdre directly and tells her tragic story.The daughter of the court storyteller of King Conchobhar of Ulster, Deirdre was only a newborn when the druid Cathbad foretold her destiny; she would grow up to be the fairest in all Ireland, but kings and lords would go to war over her, much blood would be spilled over her, and Ulster's three finest warriors would be forced into exile and die for her sake.The Red Branch Warriors, Conchobhar's armed forces, demanded that the baby be killed to avert this dreadful prophesy. But Conchobhar, wanting to be humane and intrigued by the descriptions of Deirdre's future beauty, ordered that the girl would be raised in isolation, only around other women, and when she reached marriageable age he would marry her.Things did not go according to his plans. Deirdre, a beautiful but lonely young woman, fell in love with Conchobhar's nephew, Naoise, a handsome young man who was already Ulster's finest warrior and hunter, and an accomplished singer.English translation follows the original Gaelic.





	Deirdre of the Sorrows, You're Not to Blame

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted so much to write the narrative to this old Irish tale in Gaelic. It's such a fascinating story because it illustrates the danger of ignoring prophecy (or, more appropriately, common sense). And I just wonder what Deirdre herself thought of her lot; did she know of the prophecy about her that was told when she was just a newborn? She had the Second Sight, a type of Extrasensory Perception, thus she could have suspected at least. If she did, what did she think? What must have gone through her mind as she tried to avert disaster? And King Conchobhar himself... his own foolish lust created his own ruin.
> 
> I'm sure that women the world over have a rough time, although especially attractive women have some particular cruelties that they face... I'm sure that plenty of women think, "Will you boys stop fighting, start thinking with your brains, and act your age??!!"
> 
> Oh, and Fergus Mac Roich, I was surprised to learn that he was the king of Ulster before Conchobhar's mother, Neasa, manipulated him into giving her son the crown. And that Naoise and his brothers were Conchobhar's own nephews...! Nice family...! That and Queen Maebh was originally married to Conchobhar and had a son by him, but she hated her husband and left him for Ailill, with whom she would rule Connacht and have seven sons.
> 
> It's a theme that runs through the stories of Helen of Sparta and Princess Cassandra of Troy, although Deirdre seems to be more like Cassandra in that she is trying to avert disaster and is more sympathetic than Helen.  
> The Klickitat Nation in Oregon and Washington tells of how the volcanoes known to most as "Mt Hood", "Mt Adams", and "Mt St Helens" were once the actors in an unfortunate love triangle between the Creator God's sons, Wy'East (Mt Hood) and Pahto/Klickitat (Mt Adams), and a young woman Loowit (Mt St Helens) who could not choose between the brothers; the neighboring nations of the Klickitat all tell variations of the same theme, which may well be describing metaphorically a geological disaster (earthquake and volcanic eruption) and part of the cultural history of the Nations in question.
> 
> I've tried to write it in the Dal-Riata dialect of Gaelic (which would straddle much of Northern Ireland and Southwestern Scotland), since the story takes place in that region.
> 
> I tried to be as accurate as historically and culturally possible, including the ages of the heroine and hero; according to Brehon Law in Gaelic Ireland, the legal minimum marriageable ages were 15 years for women and 18 years for men. Deirdre is supposedly just at marriageable age when she meets Naoise and he's roughly 19 or 20 since he has two brothers and is already one of the most decorated warriors of Ulster. 
> 
> In comparison, my guess is that King Conchobhar is at least in his late thirties or early forties, compared to Deirdre's 15 years and Naoise's 20; 50 years was generally the beginning of old age for most of human history. He was probably was closer to 40 years, middle-aged, but a woman of Deirdre's age would still see him as "old".
> 
> I learned here [books.google.com/books?id=VStL…](https://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?https://books.google.com/books?id=VStLAQAAMAAJ&pg=PA46&lpg=PA46&dq=manannan+mac+lir+deirdre&source=bl&ots=22g41eHz-j&sig=hmPbIVR1pUfTJySvcHleGobuDvg&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjO17aV2f_JAhUC-mMKHaH-CVIQ6AEIPTAJ#v=onepage&q=manannan%20mac%20lir%20deirdre&f=false)  
> that Deirdre and Naoise might have had children, Gaiar and Aebgreine, while in exile.
> 
> As of 07/2017, I decided to put a bit more emphasis on the children and a bit on domestic life for Deirdre and her family, including a bit of the infatuation and conjugal affection between her and Naoise, including the idea that Deirdre and Naoise consummated their union while fleeing to Scotland (they're a young couple, thoroughly smitten with each other, it made sense), resulting in their first child.  
> I know that Deirdre would be just shy of 16 years when bearing her firstborn (childbirth at a very early age is dangerous for the mother) and I wanted to emphasize that she was a tall, strapping beauty (with the implication of full hips).

**Deirdre nam Bròn, Chan e Thu as Coireach**

A Dheirdre, dé an fios a bh’agad? An robh  
Fios agad air an fhàisneachamh ‘n Dhraoidh Cathbhadh?  
Dé smaointich thu? An d’ ghabh thu uabhas aig an  
Smaoin sin gum millteamh rìoghachd mhór air do shon…?

An iarr thu an dàn a dh’fhàisnich Cathbhadh?  
Aig cuirm leis an rìgh na h-Ulaidh, ‘na chuirmear,  
‘S na Curaidhean na Craoibhe Ruaidhe aig an  
Taigh d’athar, chualamh do sgreuch oillteil uad, fhath’t

Sa’ mhachlag fhéin do mháthar, bha h-uil’ an iongnadh…  
Och, Eilèin Gháidhealaich, ‘s gann gun rugamh tu nair  
dh’Éigh Cathbhadh fhéin gun tigeamh tu gu h-inbhe  
Chun nighean fhéin a b’ mhaisich’ uile h-Éireann

Ach rachamh rìghrean ‘s tighearnan ri cogamh  
Air do shon, dhòirteamh móran fhuil air do shon,  
Is sparrtamh an triùir ghaisgeach Ulaidh ‘s fheàrr ‘steach  
Do fògramh ‘s siùbhlamh air do sgàth, air do shon…!

Dh’iarr Curaidhean na Craoibh’ Ruaidh’ d’athair, ‘n filidh  
An Rìghre Conchobhar mac Neasa ‘n Ulaidh,  
Gad mharbhamh aig breith, ach dhearg-bhrosnaich aithris  
Do mhaise ‘n Rìgh, a thòisich ‘dhealbhamh ortsa…

‘Na fhichead blian’ ‘s a cóig, bruadarach ‘s òg  
Gu leòr fhath’st, dh’iarr Conchobhar a bhith ‘na  
Rìgh thruacanta; dhèanamh e an ainnir  
‘Na bhainrìgh ‘s mar sin chlòthamh e strì sam bith… 

‘Nad nighneag, thug Rìgh thu ri Leabharcham chaoimh,  
Do mhuime dhìleas dh’àraicheamh tu ‘n caisteal  
Céin le ban-òglaich eil’ air falbh ás an  
Sùil fhir eil’ gos an ruigeamh tu ‘n aois phòsaidh…

Gu dearbh, dh’fhàsamh tu chun ainnir mhaiseach  
Ach aonaranach, bhàn ‘s nan sùilean glasa  
‘S nan gruaidhean luis nam ban-sìth’, bilean nan ròs,  
Le cruth mhór, fhoirfe lànachd abaich nan ceòs…

Mar a bha thu a dh’fhàs na b’ dlùithe ris an  
Aois phòsaidh, thadhail Conchobhar nas tric’; bha  
E snog gu leòr, ach bha ‘na bhodach preasach;  
Ó, choir do ghràin air snaidhmean air do mhionach...!

Nair chunnaic thu gun d’ chasgair d’oide laogh air  
Lath’ Geamhraidh, thùirling fitheach air an sneachda  
Ag ithe ‘n sneachd’ ùr fuilteach, ‘s leig thu osna;  
Bu mhiann leat fear dubh snuaidh ruitich’ ‘s gile…

Am bruadar, bha thu air an òigear briagh  
Seo fhaicinn, fuilt an fhithich, snuaidh sneachda ghlain ghil,  
Is gruaidhean ‘s bilean cho dearg ri fuil, ‘n tarbh  
Òg tapaidh fìnealta neo-eagalach sin…

Ge b’oillt le Leabharcham, cha b’urrainn dhi casg  
Fhéin, oir bha cus gràidh aice ort gad thoirt ri  
Rìgh chrosda aosda; thuirt i gun d’ cho-fhreagair  
An tuairisgeul ri Naoise, ‘na mhac Uisnich.

An dealbh-chunntais Naoise, ‘na mhac Uisnich,  
Bha e ‘nad laoch a b’ fheàrr, a b’ ghaisgich’ Ulaidh,  
Bha e ‘s a dhithis bhràthair dian-dìleas  
‘Nam blàthan fhéin a b’ uaisle ‘n uile Éirinn…

Ged dhiùlt a’ bhanaltram do ghuidh’ air toiseachd,  
Bha fios aig Leabharcham gun dh’fheumramh géilleamh,  
Gun bitheamh ceàrr gad thoirt, ‘nad rìbhinn mhaiseach  
Cóig bliana deug a dh’aois, don Rìgh aosda…

Ghabh Leabharcham thu ris gun fhiosda, chuala  
Thu Naoise ‘seinn gu binn le chlàrsach, ‘suidhe  
Fo uinnseann mhór. Fo gheasa, mhothaich thu àgh  
Nach d’ mhothaich thu a-riadh, ‘s chunnaic e thu…!

Choir fheusag iteach bhog, mhìn cuidream mór air  
A’ bhòidhche aghaidh fhearail, shùilean ghormain  
‘S chnòth’-challtainn, ‘chraiceann ruiteach geal thar fèithean  
Mór’ cruadhach, ‘bheul ròis ‘s a chiabh fhithich… ! 

Naoi blian’ deug a dh’aois, chan fhaca e bean  
Do mhaise, ciabhan na meala, gruaidhean  
An luis nam ban-sìth’, d’ fhiaclan na neamhnaid,  
Do shùilean mór’ na mara, ‘s dìorras shàmhach…

“Feuch, abair gur agh rìomhach gun déid seachad~!”  
Ghoir e gu pratach. Fo fearg ‘s ùidh, dh’fhreagair  
Thu, “’S furast’ e airson nan aighean a bhith  
Cho rìomhach ‘s mhaiseach far nach eil ann tarbhan~!”

Is tharraing sibhse ás a chéil’ gu cridheil…  
Ged bh’ e fo gheasa cuideachd, le do thuigse  
Is d’ionracas, do ghlain’ a thuillidh d’ mhaise,  
Bha fios aig Naoise gun do bhean thu don Rìgh.

Bha fios aig Naoise gun do bhean thu don Rìgh,  
Ach dhearbh thu air do spéis, dian nach bu  
Mhath leat an Rìgh sean, crosda, gun do dh’iarr  
Thu esan, ‘na laoch briagh òg is tapaidh…!

A’ tarrang ás gum bitheamh cluasan fhanaid’  
Is nàire aigesan nam fàgamh esan  
Thu, rinn sibh gàire còmhl’ ann an dlùth-ghabhail,  
Is dh’earb thu ‘n gabhail ris grad, làn a bhràithrean…!

Bha ‘n Rìgh air bhàinidh, ‘cor an airm thar Éirinn.  
Cheil Naoise ‘gus a bhràithrean, Ardán ‘s Ainnle,  
Thu ann an dòmhlachd oidhcheil ‘s theich sibh Uladh  
Don dh’Alba, far an cunnaic an rìgh d’àilleachd...

Bu mhiann leis thu ‘s thòisich e ‘thoirt obair  
Gun d’ dh’fhàs nas cunnartaich’ ri Naoise, Ardán,  
Is Ainnle mus thuig ead a dhroch-rùn; theich sibh  
Ri h-eilean fasgach ‘s pailt a’ bhìdh’, neo-bhuairte… 

Bh’ a’ bheatha stuam’ ach sona; bha gràdh agad  
Air Ardán ‘s Ainnle mar do bràithrean fhéin ‘s ghabh  
Thu ‘s Naoise barrachd ghràidh air ‘chéile gach là  
Car na grunn blianaichean gun d’ chaith sibh ann…

Bha Naoise coileanta, ‘na fhiùran dèanta,  
Bha thu ‘nad rìbhinn mhór; ‘s bha sibh fo gheas ghlain  
Le chéile, dh’amhraic sibh a chéil’ gu spéiseach,  
‘S mus d’ ráinig sibh na h-Alba, bh’iomlan pòsamh…! 

Mus d’ráinig sibh na h-Alba, rinn sibh iomlan  
Ur pòsamh, bha thu ‘na bhainrìgh ‘s bh’ e ‘nad rìgh…!  
Ged thòisich duilgheadas air Alba, dhìon sibh  
A chéile ‘s a’ bhuil ur gaoil ‘s theich don dh’eilean… 

Ri Naoise ‘gas riut, rugamh mac is nighean,  
Air àrach leis an Dia Manannan Mac  
Lir anns an Eamhain Abhlach, dhìon diadhaidh  
An aghaidh rìghre fheargaich aosd’ Ulaidh… 

Do mhac ‘s do nighean, Gaiar is Aebgreine,  
A chuireamh moit ann Naoise ‘s annad; Gaiar  
A ghabhamh ‘na laoch mór mar athair, ‘s ghabhamh  
Aebgreine ‘na Baintighearn’ na Tìre nan Òg…

Air bhàinidh gun do chaill e thu ‘s làn dhìoghaltais,  
Mheall Conchobhar an Tighearn’ Fearghas mac Róich,  
As urramaich’, ‘s a dhith’s mhac gad ath-bhuidhinn  
Is na mic Uisnich, geallamh ‘n iochd gum briseamh…

Chreid Fearghas Conchobhar, gun cùmamh e gheallamh  
Iochd. Bheireamh e sibh dhachaidh ris an dh’Uladh  
Le dhith’s mhac, Illian Fionn is Buinne Ruadh Cruaidh.  
Choir na mic Uisnich fàilte àghach orra…!

Ged bha do chéil’ ‘s a bhràithrean sulchair fhaicinn  
Ur càirdean dìls’, bh’ an dàrna seallamh fhéin a’d;  
Bha fios ceart agad air na thachaireamh dhuibh;  
Chan earbtamh Conchobhar, leat no le d’ chéile…

Ged thagair ‘s ghuidh thu, cha tug eadsan feart air  
Do rabhamh. Cha tug na fir roghainn dhut, chaidh  
Thu gu h-aindeonach air an long don dh’Uladh,  
Oir bhruidhinn dleasdanas na b’ fharamaiche… 

Och, dh’fheumamh tu is Naoise fàgail ur clann,  
Ge b’oillt leibh, na dà patach ann, ‘nam breislich  
Gum feumamh Mamag ‘s Boban is a bhràithrean  
Gam fàgail, gun robh Mamag cho ‘na h-éiginn…!

Dh’ath-aithris thu gu h-éiginneach do fhàisneachd;  
Ged cha robh Naoise ‘dir ‘na amadan ‘s dh’fheuch  
E ‘thoirt cofhurtachd riut, phlàigh cianalas  
‘S an dleasdanas na fir. Chnàmh d’ éiginn a’d fhéin...

Dh’fhàth-fheith ‘n Rìgh Fearghas le co-fhealltair uasal  
Air alt ‘s nach b’urrainn e ur dìon ‘san tilleamh  
Don dh’Eamhain Mhacha. Thug ur càirdean gaisgeach  
Am fàilte ‘s cairtealan airson na h-oidhche… 

Cha b’urrainn Fearghas diùltamh tairgse chuirme  
Le triathan gun cunnart thàmailt’ móire…  
Dh’fheuch thu ‘thoirt rabhamh ris na fir gum bitheamh  
An oidhch’ na b’ sàbhailte anns a’ Chraoibh Ruadh fhéin dhuibh

Droch-amharasach air Naoise ‘s air do mhaise,  
Choir Conchobhar gnù Leabharcham gad fhaicinn,  
Fo uallach aithris dha do mhaise. ‘Feuchainn  
Gad dhìon, thuirt i gun robh thu aosda ‘s ghrànnda…

Droch-amharasach air Leabharcham ‘s do mhaise,  
Choir Conchobhar neach-brathaidh; chunnaic thu e  
‘S choir Naoise ás a shùil; cam, dh’aithris esan  
Gun robh cho maiseach thu ‘s gum b’fhiach doille...

An latha máireach, greasamh na Mic Uisnich  
Do’n mheadhan chùirt-lios’ mhóir ‘s bha d’ làmhan cheangailt’  
Fad ‘s gun d’ chàin Conchobhar am brathamh, ‘toirt ris  
Na Laoich na Craoibh’ Ruaidh’ àithne ionnsaigh’ orra…

Ged shabaid na Mic Uisnich gu treun ‘s dh’fheuch na  
Mic Fhearghais fhéin gan cobhramh, shluig Laoich do ghaol  
‘S do chàirdean. Mharbh ceannard an airm, Eóghann  
Mac Dùrthachd, Naoise, d’ chéile, le sleagh tron chùl…

Ràn thu an cràdh ‘s oillt aig an seallamh fad ‘s gun  
Do ráinig Fearghas is arm aig an tiota  
Sin, lorg e na Mic Uisnich air am mortamh  
Le aon mhic ‘s bh’ a mhac eil’ air chor fo tàmailt…

Spreadh Fearghas ann am bàinidh ‘s dòrainn; mheall an  
Rìgh e ‘s bhris e an geallamh gun d’rinn e dha.  
Mhort Fearghas is arm móran laoich, a’ gabhail  
‘Steach mac de Chonchobhair, mus theich ead Uladh…

Theich Fearghas is arm ris a’ Chonnacht far an  
Thug Ailill ‘s Medb, an Rìgh ‘s a’ Bhainrìgh, fàilt’ dhaibh ‘s  
Stiùir Fearghas fhéin ead ris a’ bhlàr an aghaidh ‘n  
Rìghr’ Conchobhar air sgrios, a rìoghachd mhillte… 

Air bhàinidh gu bheil Conchobhar air fhàisneachd  
A leigeil seachad, choir ‘n draoidh Cathbhadh mallachd  
Air Conchobhar nach riaghlamh a shliochdan  
Gu sìorraidh tuillidh, ‘s milleamh Eamhain Mhacha…

Bh’ a dhuais aig Conchobhar, ach cha do mheal e  
Do chonaltramh a-riadh; dhiùlt thu e gu  
Fuar daonnan, is car blian’ ‘s aon là shuidh ‘s chaoin  
Thu, truagh sa’ chiomachas fhir gum bu fhuath leat…

Na pataich do ghràidh, ‘dh’fheumamh tu gam fàgail,  
Bha Gaiar, do mhac, ‘na chòig blianaichean  
‘S Aebgreine ‘na dà bliana, air chur far  
Na cìche ‘n ceart lath’ dh’fheumamh tu gam fàgail…! 

Na bràithrean Naoise aig a bha gràdh ort mar  
Am piuthar fhéin, air mharbhamh ‘nad sheallamh  
Leis, Naoise, ‘m bràthair tapaidh ris a bh’ eadsan  
Cho dìleas, Naoise ‘bha cho briagh ‘s fìnealt’…!

Och, Naoise, ‘n céile do ghràidh, b’urrainn dhut fhath’st  
A fhaicinn, ‘siubhal romhad is cha b’urrainn  
Dhut chaoineamh cruaidh na b’ leòir airson am fhir a  
Chuir geas ort fhath’st, leòn geur nach leighiseamh annad… 

Aon latha, dh’fhoighnich Conchobhar uat, “Dé ‘th’ an  
Nì air a bheil gràin agad as mó ‘san domhan?”  
Diùlt thu ga sheallamh ‘s dh’fhreagair, “Tha gràin agam  
Ort ‘s air a’ bhéist sin Eóghann ‘mhort mo ghràdh-sa…!”

Air chaothach, shònraich Conchobhar gad chor ris,  
Ri Eóghann, car aon bliana. Sa’ charbad  
Sgeig e thu, “coiridh sinn thu eadarainne  
Mar caora eadar dithis reithe!” Chnac thu.

Aig an uaigh Naoise ‘gos a bhràithrean, ràn thu  
An corraich ‘s dòrainn ‘s thilg thu fhéin on charbad.  
Bhuail d’ cheann an carragh, ‘mharbh thu an clisgeadh  
Is dh’fhosgail ‘s ghabh an tìr do mharbhan truagh…

Is dh’fhosgail ‘s ghabh an tìr do mharbhan truagh,  
‘S laigh thu air Naoise, d’ bhilean ‘gabhail fois air  
A bhilean ‘s mar sin dheth bha sibhse còmhla  
‘Rith’st ‘s dhùin an tìr gu dìonach ‘s iomlan tharaibh …

Is chaoidh na h-Ultaich ri àrd-ghul ‘s chinn on uaigh  
Dà iubhar dìreach ‘s seanga, ‘s shuain na geugan  
Mu chéile, mar dith’s leannan, ‘dèanadh bogha  
Os cionn ur n-àite-adhlacaimh ‘s na carraigh~!

Air bhàinidh, ràn an rìgh an òrdugh chladhach  
An uaigh ‘s a sparramh bacain eadaraibh, thu  
‘S do chéile, uil’ gan cumail air leth eadhan  
Sa’ bhàs, cho dall ‘na chorraich ‘n dìoghaltais…!

Air shàrachamh le Conchobhar, chronaich an  
Draoidh Cathbhadh an rìgh, “Sguir do sgainnearamh saoibh  
Nam marbh!” Bha e air an sliochd an rìghre  
A mhallachamh a-chean’. An tàmailt, ghéill ‘n rìgh…

Air ghoid air falbh á do theaghlach ‘nad phàist’,  
Air àrach ann an dìomhaireachd cho uaigneach  
A bhith air phòsamh do rìgh gum robh suarach  
Mu ‘n fàisneachd uasaich air do cheann cho soineant’…

‘Nad nighneag, chaill thu ‘n conaltramh le d’ theaghlach,  
‘Nad mháthair òig, chaill thu ‘n conaltramh le d’ chlann-sa,  
‘Nad òg-bhean, chaill thu d’ chéile ‘gas a bhràithrean,  
Is uil’ airson an rìghre drùisich ghroid shin…

Ghabh rìgh thu á do theaghlach, air bheò-ghlacamh  
Le maise dh’iarr e a shealbhachamh ‘n sannt,  
Cha tug e roghainn dhut an suidheachamh gun  
Robh thar do smachd, chan ach aon nighean ‘bh’innte…

An d’ dh’iarr thu dàn air chor ort aig do bhreith…?  
Gabh fois, oir tha thu ‘s Naoise còmhla gu bràth…

**  
O Deirdre, what did you know? Did you  
Know about the prophecy of the Druid Cathbad?  
What did you think? Did you take horror at that idea  
That a great kingdom would be ruined on your account…?**

**Did you want the fate that Cathbad foretold?  
At a feast held by the king of Ulster  
And the Red Branch Warriors at the house  
Of your father, your shocking scream was hear from you, still**

**In the very womb of your mother, all were astonished…  
Alas, O Helen of the Gaels, hardly were you born  
When Cathbad himself announced that you would come of age  
Into the very fairest daughter of all Ireland**

**But kings and lords would go to war  
Because of you, much blood would be spillt because of you,  
And the three best warriors of Ulster would be forced  
Into exile and death for your sake, because of you…!**

**The Red Branch Warriors wanted your father, the court poet  
Of the King Conchobhar mac Neasa of Ulster,  
To kill you at birth, but a report of your beauty  
Aroused the King, who began planning on _you_ …**

**In his twenty and five years, idealistic and young  
Enough still, Conchobhar wanted to be  
A compassionate king; he would make the maiden  
His queen and therefore he would mitigate any contention…**

**Just a maiden-child, a King gave you to gentle Lavarcham,  
Your loyal nurse who raised you in a remote  
Castle with other maidservants away from the  
Eye of other men until you reached marriageable age…**

**Indeed, you grew into a fair albeit lonely  
Maiden, brighthaired and of green-grey eyes  
And cheeks of foxglove, lips of the roses,  
With a tall, perfect figure of a ripe fullness of the hips…**

**As you were coming closer to the  
Age of marriage, Conchobhar visited more often; he was  
Nice enough, but he was a wrinkled old man;  
O, your disgust in him knotted your stomach…!**

**When you saw that your foster father had slaughtered a calf  
On a Winter’s day, a raven descended on the  
Snow to eat the newly bloodied snow, and you sighed;  
You desired a raven-haired man of white and rosy complexion.**

**In a dream, you had seen this handsome young man  
Of raven hair, of complexion of pure white snow,  
And cheeks and lips as red as blood, that  
Fine, fearless, heroic young bull…**

**Although Lavarcham was horrified, she could not stop  
Herself, for she loved you too much to give you to  
A cross, aging King; she said that the description  
Matched Naoise, a son of Uisneach.**

**The description of Naoise, a son of Uisneach,  
He was the bravest, finest warrior of Ulster,  
He and his two fiercely loyal brothers were  
The very finest flowers in all of Ireland…**

**Although the nurse refused your begging at first,  
Lavarcham knew that she would have to yield,  
That it would be wrong to give you, a fair maid  
Fifteen years of age, to the aging King…**

**Lavarcham took you to him secretly, you heard  
Naoise singing sweetly with his harp, sitting  
Under a great ash tree. Enchanted by him, you felt a joy  
That you had never felt, and he saw you…!**

**His smooth, feather-soft beard emphasized greatly  
The beauty of his virile face, his eyes of cornflower and  
Hazelnut, his rosy, bright skin over great muscles  
Of steel, his rosebud mouth and raven locks…!**

**Nineteen years of age, he had not seen a woman  
Of your beauty, tresses of honey, cheeks  
Of foxglove, teeth of pearl,  
Your eyes of the sea, and a quiet tenacity in you…**

**“Behold, such a fine heifer that passes by~!”  
He crowed mischievously. Vexed and interested, you  
Answered, “’T is easy for heifers to be  
So fine and fair where there are no bulls~!”**

**And you both heartily teased each other…  
Although he, too, was charmed with you, with your intellegence  
And your honesty and purity as well as your fair form,  
Naoise knew that you belonged to the King.**

**Naoise knew that you belonged to the King,  
But you proved to him of your affection, vehement that you  
Disliked the old, irritable King, that you wanted  
_Him_ , a handsome and heroic young warrior…!**

**Teasing him that _he_ would have ears of  
Mockery and shame if _he_ would leave  
You, you both laughed together in an embrace,  
And you earned the quick, full acceptance of his brothers…!**

**The King was furious, sending the army across Ireland.  
Naoise and his brothers, Ardán and Ainnle, hid  
You in a night-time throng and all of you fled Ulster  
To Scotland, where their king saw your fairness…**

**He desired you and he began to give tasks  
That grew more dangerous to Naoise, Ardán, and Ainnle  
Before they understood his bad intentions; all of you fled  
To an island, sheltered and abundant of food, untroubled.**

**Life was modest but happy; you loved  
Ardán and Ainnle like your own brothers and  
You and Naoise fell more in love with each other each day  
For the several years that you all spent there…**

**Naoise was a virile, well-built young man,  
You were a great, blooming maiden; and you were thoroughly  
Enchanted with each other, you beheld each other fondly, and  
Before you reached Scotland, a marriage was consummated…! **

**Before you reached Scotland, you made your marriage  
Complete, you were his queen and he was your king…!  
Although trouble began in Scotland, you protected  
Each other and the result of your love and fled to the island…**

**To Naoise and you, a son and a daughter were born,  
Fostered by the God Manannan Son of  
Lir in Emain Abhlach, his divine protection  
Against a wrathful old king of Ulster…**

**Your son and your daughter, Gaiar and Aebgreine,  
Who would make you and Naoise proud; Gaiar, who  
Would become a great warrior like his father, and Aebgreine  
Who would become the Lady of Tír na nÓg…**

**Furious that he lost you and full of vengeance,  
Conchobhar tricked the Lord Fergus mac Róich,  
Most honorable, and his two sons to retrieve you  
And the sons of Uisneach, a vow of mercy that he’d break.**

**Fergus believed Conchobhar, that he would keep his promise  
Of clemency. He would bear you home to Ulster with his  
Two sons, Illian the Flaxen and Buinne the Ruthless Red.  
The sons of Uisneach welcomed them joyously…!**

**Although your husband and his brothers were overjoyed to see  
Your loyal friends, you had the Second Sight itself;  
You knew exactly what would happen to all of you;  
Conchobhar could not be trusted, with you or your husband.**

**Although you pleaded and begged, _they_ did not heed  
Your warning. The men gave you no choice, you went  
Unwillingly on the ship to Ulster,  
For obligation spoke more loudly…**

**Alas, you and Naoise would have to leave your children,  
Despite yourselves, both children there, bewildered  
That Mamma and Papa and their uncles  
Had to leave them, that Mamma was so distressed…!**

**You repeated desperately your prediction;  
Although Naoise was not at all a fool and he  
Tried to comfort you, homesickness and  
Obligation plagued the men. Your crisis gnawed at your being…**

**The King waylaid Fergus with a noble conspirator  
So that he could not protect you in the return  
To Emhain Mhacha. Your warrior friends welcomed  
You and gave you lodgings for the night…**

**Fergus could not refuse an offer of a feast  
By lords without the risk of great scandal…  
You tried to warn the men that the night would  
Be safer in the Dark Red Branch itself for you…**

**Distrustful of Naoise and of your fairness,  
Sullen Conchobhar sent Lavarcham to see you,  
Under orders to report to him of your fairness. Trying  
To protect you, she said that you were aged and ugly…**

**Distrustful of Lavarcham and of your fairness,  
Conchobhar sent a spy; you saw him  
And Naoise put out his eye; one-eyed, _he_ reported  
That you were so fair that blindness was worth it…**

**The next morning, the Sons of Uisneach were hastened to  
The middle of a great courtyard and your hands were tied  
While Conchobhar denounced their betrayal, ordering  
The Red Branch Warriors to attack them…**

**Although the Sons of Uisneach fought valiantly and the sons of  
Fergus himself tried to help, Warriors engulfed your love and Your friends.  
A leader of the army, Eóghann Mac Dùrthachd,  
Slew your husband Naoise with a spear through his back.**

**You screamed in anguish and horror at the sight as  
Fergus and his army arrived at that  
Moment, he found the Sons of Uisneach murdered  
With one of his sons and his other son disgraced…**

**Fergus exploded in rage and anguish; the King  
Deceived him and broke the promise that he’d made to him.  
Fergus and his army massacred many warriors, including  
A son of Conchobhar, before they fled Ulster…**

**Fergus and his men escaped to Connacht where  
Ailill and Maebh, the King and Queen, welcomed them and  
Fergus himself led them to battle against the  
Ruined King Conchobhar, his kingdom destroyed… **

**Furious that Conchobhar had ignored  
His prophecy, the druid Cathbad cursed  
Conchobhar that his progenies would never rule  
Again, and Emain Macha fell to ruin…**

**Conchobhar had his prize, but he never  
Enjoyed your company; you always coldly  
Refused him, and for a year and a day you sat and wept,  
Miserable in the captivity of a man you loathed…**

**Your beloved children, you had to leave them,  
With Gaiar, your son, at his five years of age  
And Aebgreine at her two years of age, weaned from  
The breast the same day which you had to leave them…!**

**Naoise’s brothers who loved you like  
Their own sister, killed in your sight  
With him, Naoise, the heroic brother to whom they  
Were so loyal, Naoise who was so fine and fair…!**

**Alas, Naoise, your beloved husband, who you could still  
See, dying before you and you could not weep  
Severely enough for the man who enchanted  
You still, a raw wound that would not heal in you…**

**One day, Conchobhar inquired of you, “What is it  
That you hate most in the world?”  
You refused to look at him and answered, “I hate  
You and that beast Eóghann who murdered _my_ love…!”**

**Furious, Conchobhar decided to send you to him,  
To Eóghann, for one year. In the chariot  
He taunted you, “we will send you between _us_  
Like a ewe between two rams!” You snapped.**

**At the grave of Naoise and his brothers, you screamed  
In rage and anguish and you threw yourself from the chariot.  
Your head hit the pillar stone, which killed you instantly  
And the land opened and accepted your poor body…**

**And the land opened and accepted your poor body,  
And you settled on Naoise, your lips resting on  
His lips and therefore _you_ were together  
Again and the land closed protectively and fully over you…**

**The men of Ulster grieved and wailed aloud and from the grave  
Grew two straight, slender yew trees, the branches entwined  
Around each other, like a pair of lovers, making an arch  
Above your burial site and the pillar~!**

**In blind rage, the king bellowed the order to unearth  
The grave and to drive stakes between you, you  
And your husband, all to keep you apart even  
In death, so blind in his vengeful fury…!**

**Fed up with Conchobhar, the Druid Cathbad  
Reproached the king, “Stop your senseless persecution  
Of the dead!” He had already cursed  
The lineage of the king. In disgrace, the king obeyed.**

**Stolen away from your family as an infant,  
Raised in a secrecy so lonesome  
To be married to a king who cared not  
About the dire prophecy on your head so innocent…**

**As a little daughter, you lost contact with your family,  
As a young mother, you lost contact with _your_ children,  
As a young wife, you lost your husband and his brothers,  
And all because of the lecherous, corrupt old king…**

**A king took you from your family, obsessed  
With a beauty that he wanted to possess in greed,  
He gave you no choice in a situation that  
Was beyond your control, you were but one young woman…**

**Did you want a destiny that was placed on you at your birth…?  
Rest, for you and Naoise are together forever…**  



End file.
